


Every Other Freckle

by genevievedarcygranger



Series: Hotch x Reader / Hotch x You [19]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Accidental Exhibitioinism, Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Begging, Bisexual Aaron Hotchner, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Body Image, Body Worship, Crying, Day 17, Day 17 Kinktober, Day 17 Kinktober 2020, Day 17 Kinktober 2020 Body Worship, Day 17 Kinktober Body Worship, Day Seventeen, Day Seventeen Kinktober, Day Seventeen Kinktober 2020, Day Seventeen Kinktober 2020 Body Worship, Day Seventeen Kinktober Body Worship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hand Jobs, Hotel Sex, Humiliation, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Aaron Hotchner, Insecurity, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, Kinktober 2020: Body Worship, Kinktober: Body Worship, M/M, Nipple Licking, Nipple Play, One Shot, Oral Fixation, Overstimulation, POV Second Person, Praise Kink, Prompt: Body Worship, Reader-Insert, Rimming, Romance, Scars, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Short One Shot, Smut, Song Lyrics, Song: Every Other Freckle (alt-J), Sub Aaron Hotchner, Teasing, bisexual reader, dom reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27106114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genevievedarcygranger/pseuds/genevievedarcygranger
Summary: Hotch hates his Foyet scars and never lets you see him without a shirt, but then you finally convince him otherwise.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Reader, Aaron Hotchner/You
Series: Hotch x Reader / Hotch x You [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862236
Kudos: 76





	Every Other Freckle

_"(Let me be the wallpaper that papers up your room)_

_I want to be every button you press_

_And all mouths that surround you._

_Yes, I'm gonna roll around you_

_Like a cat rolls around the chrysanthemums._

_I'm gonna kiss you like the sun grounds you."_

\- "Every Other Freckle," _Alt-J_

* * *

You knew Hotch was hiding something from you. Well, not just anything. He was hiding himself. Having joined the BAU after the infamous Boston Reaper case, you had only heard the stories from the others, namely Rossi. It took forever for Hotch to open up to you, even after you started dating. But he still never let you see him without his shirt on.

It was getting ridiculous in your opinion. Hotch could fuck you pants-less just fine, but he kept his shirt on, even with the lights off. With one hand on you, he usually had the other holding the hemline of his shirt down when he plowed into you. When you were making out, if your fingers tried to lift the hem of his shirt or push underneath, he'd grab your hands and pin them down. You've begged him to shower with you, to take a dip in Rossi's pool, but he always refused. He showered with the bathroom door locked.

While you could understand why Hotch would be so insecure, that didn't mean you weren't surprised as much as you were hurt. Surprised because in almost every other aspect, Hotch was a beacon of confidence. Even in the bedroom, he never mentioned the elephant in the room that was his shirt. Hurt because Hotch knew that you knew of his scars, and yet he still didn't want to show you.

It wasn't even about showing you them either. It was just about being... normal. You wouldn't draw attention to them if he didn't want you to. God knows you have plenty of your own silly insecurities that Hotch must have noticed and ignored countless times.

But you wanted Hotch to be open with you, to literally bare himself and be vulnerable. To trust you. Before you officially got together with Hotch, you would dream of curling into his bare chest to fall asleep. Part of you craved that skin to skin contact, the warmth of him. You wished you could shower with your boyfriend, not for the sex, but so you could wash his hair and share kisses and soap up his back.

And you knew you shouldn't be so selfish, but you were starting to wonder if it was something you've done. Did you make him feel inferior somehow?

You decided to talk to him about it one evening after the end of a case. The team had retired to their hotel, and you snuck into Hotch's room like you've done for the past five days. He was already in bed and under the covers, squinting at his laptop screen. Once you closed the door behind you, he looked up. "Hi," he greeted you, even though he saw you only two hours earlier at the team's midnight diner dinner.

"Hi Aaron," you said with a smile. Already dressed for bed, you crawled in beside him and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Hotch turned and caught your mouth in a kiss before he broke it to set his laptop to the side on the nightstand. When he turned back to you, he was already gathering you into his arms. His kisses lingered, becoming more amorous as they went on.

You waited until Hotch pulled your shirt off before you drew away. "I'm sorry," he already starting apologizing, pulling away to his own side of the bed to give you space. "Is something wrong, baby?"

Leaning against your pillows with your shirt off, you took a moment to appreciate how your boyfriend kept eye-contact with you, concerned. "I'm okay, Aaron, but I just... I think we need to talk about something."

He took a moment to pull one of his pillows over his lap. "Okay."

You took a deep breath, and then dived in. "You know I know about your scars, right?"

Almost imperceptible to the eye of anyone else besides a profiler, Hotch flinched and stiffened. His answer was laconic. "Yes."

So far so good, or as good as you could expect. "Do I make you uncomfortable, Aaron? Have I ever made you feel like I only want to be with you for your looks?"

Now he started to avoid your eye. "No."

"That's right. No." You reached out to bridge the gap between you, and you were pleased that Hotch did not avoid your touch. Instead, he sat docilely, letting you push his hair out of his eyes, though he still did not meet your gaze. "But I do think you're pretty good looking," you teased him, "I just wish I could squeeze my boyfriend's biceps without him wearing a shirt."

A blush dusted across Hotch's face from cheek to cheek over his nose. "I'm... I don't look like Morgan."

"Aaron, I sleep beside you almost every night. I know you're a little soft. In fact, I like not sleeping on a sack of boulders, but you're still in shape. But you're also my little cuddlebug." That intensified Hotch's blush until you could feel the heat coming off of his face from where you sat. It was your cute little nickname for him that he would die of mortification if you ever used it around the team. But he loved it. "You don't just keep your shirt on because you think I'm expecting a six pack, do you?"

This time Hotch did meet your eye. "No," he whispered, voice rough with emotion.

You bit your bottom lip. "Aaron, I wanna see you. I want to go to the beach together. I want to suck your cock in the shower. I want you to be comfortable with me." You had to take another deep breath to continue. "But I don't want to force you. I just wanted to tell you that I don't care about the scars. So, if you never want to be shirtless in front of me, I understand. But it doesn't have to be this way."

For a moment, no one moved, and then Hotch was the one took take a deep, shuddering breath. Then, faster than you could blink, he was stripping off his shirt and tossing it away to land on top of yours. Finally bare from the chest up, he did not look at you, his eyes squinting at some spot over your shoulder as he caught his breath, chest heaving as if he ran a marathon.

The first thing you noticed were the freckles, which was so curious because he did not have freckles elsewhere that you knew of. You almost missed the freckles because you noticed that he did not only blush with his cheeks. His chest was flushed the same red. The next thing you noticed was that his nipples were small and pink, also erect, but over all just... cute little mouthfuls. Then with almost a clinical observation of a profiler, you noticed that his chest was most bare of hair, but you didn't really have an opinion on chest hair either way, so it didn't bother you. You were a little surprised about it since he was hairy almost everywhere else on his arms and legs. The last thing your eyes landed on were the scars all over his lower abdomen. And now you understood the full extent of his shyness.

These scars were not natural; they were not silvery like stretch marks. They weren't from the carelessness of childhood or even something like a car wreck. Despite the many years since his attack from Foyet, Hotch's scars were an angry red color, warped over each other like a mass of snakes. The scars were obviously thick and raised from his skin, no doubt ugly to the touch as they were to the eye. But the longer you stared at them, the more you noticed how there were a few scars that looked like they were from the surgeon's knife. Distantly, you remembered that Hotch had to have emergency surgery due to internal bleeding from these scars. He would always have to be on medication for them, the same medication that Foyet also took when he subjected himself to the same stabbing. Hotch will never be able to forget or fully move on from the Boston Reaper, and it was just as Foyet intended.

Your hand had reached out to touch before you were even aware of it. You almost expected Hotch to hiss at the first touch of your fingertips to his abdomen, but he had no outward reaction. Vaguely aware, you knew that the scars never physically pained Hotch anymore because he never had a problem with you touching him over his shirt. But still, you knew that they had to hurt other ways. He got phantom pains just from his nightmares, as infrequent as those were. You didn't want to hurt him.

As if reading your thoughts, Hotch murmured softly, "My skin is mostly numb there. I can't feel anything through the scar tissue." He lowered his eyes. "The doctors told me that was normal and especially common even from surgical scars. But they were tingly at first for a while when I touched them, like when you sit on your foot for too long and it falls asleep. They don't tingle anymore."

With more confidence than before, you flattened your palm over the scar tissue. Your hand didn't even cover all of them from view, plenty more peeping out from between your splayed fingers. Then you slowly slid your hand up his abdomen until it rested right over where his heart should be. It was beating fast.

In a snap decision, you crawled over to Hotch's side of the bed until you were kneeling between his legs. You tossed the pillow on his lap to the side where it tumbled off the bed and then you pulled the covers down until Hotch's lower half was exposed. He caught up with you quickly, shucking off his boxers with eagerness that would have made you laugh in any other context but this one. Hotch went to pull you in for a kiss, but you resisted, urging him instead to lean back against the pillows.

And then your mouth was on him. You had so much lost time to make up for, and you didn't want to waste even a second. Since Hotch told you he had no feeling over his scar tissues, you skipped by them in favor of laying kisses everywhere else.

He was so responsive for you, fingers on your head, digging his blunt fingernails into your scalp. Hotch started to moan as your mouth sucked hickeys all over his chest and then his moans reached an almost feminine pitch when you focused your attack on his nipples. Whereas before he was so wrapped up in making you feel good, now Hotch just laid back and took what you gave him. Occasionally, he would thrust his hips up, grinding his erection into your belly as you covered his body with your own, but mostly all of Hotch's effort went into fueling his moans. He was starting to beg now. "Please, oh, please, please."

You only pulled your lips away from his collarbone long enough to ask, "What is it, cuddlebug? What do you want from me?"

Tears leaked from the corners of Hotch's eyes that were screwed shut. Desperation was written boldly across his forehead in the form of sweat. "Oh please, please, I want more."

"More," you cooed teasingly in a babyish voice, "You want more, cuddlebug? I'll give you more, I promise."

His only response was a sharp whimper and then a lot more encouraging moans as you kept to your promise, lowering your mouth down his abdomen again. When your attention was then on his lower half, you didn't immediately go for his cock which matched the same red as the rest of his blushes. Rather, you wedged your shoulders between his thighs until he was obscenely spread open before you, fully vulnerable now for the first time since you've known him.

The first thing you did was spread some more hickeys on the skin of his inner thighs until they would surely match the purple necklace you left on his chest. Again, Hotch let loose a fit of moans at the intensity of your attention, pleading with you for more. But still you continued your teasing as you chose instead to lightly suck his balls into your mouth, his pitiful erection dribbling copious amounts of precome into his navel.

And then you dipped your mouth below his sac, laving his hole in wet kisses that had Hotch tossing his head back and forth and slamming a palm to the wall behind him. Still, you did not stop, licking and spitting into his hole until the rim puffy and he was open to you. Only then did you finally put your hands back on his body, only to lather your fingers with spit until you could slide two inside of him to the second knuckle.

"Baby," Hotch began to babble. His hand slapped at the wall again, searching for purchase that he wouldn't be able to find on the slick wallpaper, "baby, baby, baby, oh!"

"I know, cuddlebug," you shushed him, "Doesn't this feel so good?" You were eating up the sight of him like this, a veritable banquet for the eyes. Your boyfriend was beautiful, scars and all. You told him as much. "So beautiful. So lovely."

Another sharp whimper nearly pierced your eardrums before Hotch turned his head to side, driving to bury his face into the pillow like an ostrich would in the dirt. His body sported nothing except a red blush, a fine sweat, and an impressive erection left to leak, untouched, against his abdomen. His precome covered the majority of his scars by now.

While you pumped your fingers into him, you let your lips nibble at his jutting hip bones now. You were enjoying this too much, the power that you lorded over him, the ability to make him this senseless with pleasure. Finally, you brought your other hand into the mix as you stroked at first just two fingers to the underside of his cock. That gentle touch alone made his erection twitch and spit another gob of precome in anticipation. You kept that light touch until Hotch let out a great hiccupping sob, "Oh please, baby! Please, I need you so much! 'M so hard it hurts."

"Oh, my poor cuddlebug. You wanna come?"

"Yes!" He wailed; way too loud to be courteous in a hotel room.

"Then you come for me, cuddlebug," you told him earnestly, and switched to rubbing the underside of his cock with the flat of your hand. The effect had his erection pushed flat into his stomach awashed in precome already. "Come just for me, like this," you insisted, matching the pace of your hand to the pumps of your fingers as you prodded at his prostate.

The dam burst inside of Hotch as his erection swelled up and then spilled, covering the rest of his stomach in come. His walls had tightened around your fingers and his sac drew up as he released. His moans were only half muffled as he bit into the pillow, drooling around it as he rode the rest of the aftershocks.

For your part, you were completely fascinated. Hotch never looked so wrecked or so hot before after an orgasm. He was completely open, unguarded, unshielded, on display... "Beautiful."

At the sound of your voice, Hotch cracked an eye open and turned to you. Drool shined on his chin, but he was too tired to wipe it away. Instead he held his arms out to you, and you carefully crawled up beside him until you could wrap yourself in his embrace. It was mostly the dead weight of his arms that anchored you in place. "Thank you, baby."

"Oh, cuddlebug," you sighed and pressed your cheek to the top of his head. A smile made its way across your face. "You know what this means now?"

"What?" Hotch croaked, his voice nearly gone.

"Shower time."

* * *

The next morning while Hotch checked you all out of the hotel, you lingered around the continental breakfast bar, hunting for a good muffin. Rossi pointed out a sugary blueberry one, one of the last of its kind, and you snatched it up gratefully. Shooting him a smile, you had just sunk your teeth into it when Rossi asked all too casually, "So... cuddlebug?"

Bits of blueberry, muffin, and blueberry muffin sprayed across his face as you coughed and sputtered, but you weren't going to apologize. Once you could breathe, you shoved your index finger under his nose and growled, "Not a word to anyone."

Relaxed if not a bit annoyed, Rossi dusted his blazer jacket clean of crumbs. "Silent as the grave."


End file.
